


Asleep In Boots

by the_rogue_bitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fetish, M/M, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-28
Updated: 2009-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rogue_bitch/pseuds/the_rogue_bitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wouldn’t be accurate to say that Sam had a fetish for boots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asleep In Boots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azephirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/gifts).



> Written for azephirin using the prompt “Sam/Dean, combat boots”.

It wouldn’t be accurate to say that Sam had a fetish for boots.

Sam had a fetish for Dean. 

But Dean in combat boots was a combination guaranteed to bring Sam to a sudden, searing hard-on and an overwhelming urge to tackle Dean onto a bed, strip him down to his shorts, and suck his dick until he howled Sam’s name, combat boots drumming on his calves. 

Sam first noticed this -- _proclivity_ \-- when he was 15 and Dean had inherited Dad’s old boots. Dean had put the boots on, unlaced, and clomped around the shitty apartment in them, grinning like crazy. They were slightly too big on him, but they made his swagger more pronounced, his stride more confident. Fifteen-year-old Sammy had gazed upon Dean with astonished hero worship and something more that coalesced later that night into a formless dream of Dean and his boots and ended up with Sammy waking to sticky boxers and bedsheets. 

He started offering to maintain Dean’s boots for him. He would take them from their spot next to Dean’s bed, clean them with saddle soap, polish them meticulously with boot polish, and then shine them to a high gloss. He would hand them gravely back to Dean, who would say, “Thanks, Sammy,” a curious yet knowing look on his face. Sam would race off to the bathroom, presumably to wash his hands, but really to jerk off in the sink, his hands smelling of saddle soap and boot polish black under his fingernails. 

Sam would watch through his bangs whenever Dean would put his newly-polished boots on, the way he stomped his foot down into the heel, the slow tightening of the laces and tying the bow into a double knot. “They look good, Sammy,” he would say, and Sam would duck his head and blush and smile as Dean would stride that cocky bowlegged stride out the door. 

So, yeah, Sam loved Dean in combat boots. 

Dean didn’t start wearing combat boots again until after Dad died. By that time, they had been screwing around for a long time and Sam had nearly forgotten about his particular _kink_ regarding Dean and boots. 

Then they’d had an outstandingly nasty hunt involving a Coblyhaus. It had taken a swing at Dean with wickedly sharp, filthy nails and Dean had jumped back, but not far enough. The Coblyhaus had shredded one of Dean’s boots, narrowly missing his foot in the process. Sam decapitated it, and then salted and burned it (not difficult, its body-hair was so oily that it went up quickly but smelled _awful_ ). Afterwards they limped back to the car, Dean bitching all the way over his ruined footwear. 

“Jesus, what are you, a girl? There’s an Army/Navy store in town, we’ll get you some new boots there.” Sam shoved Dean in the general direction of the Impala’s driver’s seat. 

Dean shoved back. “It’s not my boot, it could’ve gotten my _foot_.” 

“But it didn’t. So shut up and we’ll get you new boots in town.”

Dean sulked theatrically on the drive, but he was so obviously putting it on that Sam didn’t even acknowledge it. They split up in the surplus store, Dean headed for boots and Sam headed for the thermal wear. They could always use more layers. 

“Hey, Sammy, whaddya think?” Dean stood at the end of the aisle, black combat boots unlaced on his feet. Sam heard a giant sucking sound in his ears as the blood absolutely _drained_ from his head, rushing for parts south. 

“Yesabsolutelygetthose.” 

Dean smirked and clomped off. Sam didn’t even bother to find thermal undershirts, he just trailed after Dean wondering where he could get saddle soap and boot polish. 

Dean paid for the boots and they walked outside to the car. 

Sam saw a drugstore across the street. “Gimme a second, Dean, I gotta get something.” 

“Meet you in the car, I’m gonna put these on.” 

Sam ducked into the store and located the housewares aisle. There was a small display devoted to shoe maintenance, where he grabbed a tin of saddle soap and another of black boot polish. He also snagged some cheap dishtowels. He jogged back to the Impala, where Dean was relacing the combat boots, getting them snug, getting them _just right_ on his feet. Sam swallowed hard and awkwardly got into the passenger seat, trying to sit comfortably around his raging hard-on. 

They got back to the motel, where Dean collapsed across the bed. 

“You want the first shower, Dean?” 

“Nah, I’m too bushed. You take it. If I’m awake enough when you’re done and you haven’t used up all the hot water, I’ll take one.”

Sam dropped the bag from the drugstore on the bed and went into the motel bathroom. He scowled down at his dick as it sprung defiantly free of his briefs, and promised to himself that he would _not_ be getting himself off in the shower tonight. 

The hot water felt good on the various bruises and sore muscles left over from the fight with the Coblyhaus. It felt less good on the equally various scrapes and cuts. Sam scrubbed down and rinsed off, getting himself cleaned and calmed down before he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He opened the door to see Dean fast asleep lengthwise on the bed, fully dressed, legs spread obscenely wide, booted feet resting on the floor. 

Sam grinned to himself. His body was no longer calm, his dick jumping back up to attention like it had never relaxed.

“Oh, hell yeah.” 

He took a dishtowel from the drugstore bag and dampened it before returning to the room. He knelt between Dean’s feet and lined up the tins of saddle soap and boot polish next to him. Popping the tops off the tins, Sam rubbed the wet towel on the soap until foam formed. Then Sam lifted up Dean’s left foot and put it in his lap. 

A tiny whimper escaped Sam’s lips as the heel of the boot rested against his dick, which was straining against the damp towel around his waist. The friction was subtle, sweet and torturous. He rubbed the soapy towel over the boot, slowly, in gentle circles, making sure the soap got worked into the leather thoroughly. When he had covered the whole boot in soapy foam, he gently wiped it off with another side of the damp towel. He then stroked a dry towel all over the boot to make sure there was no damp residue. 

Sam took another towel and rubbed it on the black polish. Picking up Dean’s boot by the heel, he smeared the polish over the boot, using shorter strokes to make sure it got into the leather. 

The constant movement and rocking forward and back that was necessary to perform the task of polishing Dean’s boot caused Sam’s dick to rub gently within the confines of the damp towel. His hands shook at the subtle stimulation, enough to distract and tease, but not enough to get him anywhere but frustrated. 

Sam finished with Dean’s left boot, polishing it to a high gloss with a dry towel. He put it on the floor and moved to the right one. 

“Fuck, Sammy.” 

Sam froze, Dean’s right foot halfway between the floor and his lap. He looked up slowly, sweat springing up all over his body. Dean looked down his body at Sam, propped up on his elbows. 

“No wonder you wanted me to get these boots. Really like ‘em, do ya?” Dean raised the left one and stroked Sam’s cheek with the toe. Sam couldn’t help it, he swayed into the caress, inhaling the sooty, oily smell of the new polish. 

“Yes,” Sam whispered. He couldn’t seem to get any other words out, hell, he was having trouble breathing. Adrenaline surged and made him gasp.

“Well, don’t stop, Sam. Finish it up.” Dean didn’t lie back down. Instead, he watched Sam intently as he placed Dean’s right boot the rest of the way in his lap. 

“Holy shit, Sam, I can feel that wood all the way through the sole of my boot,” Dean sounded a bit breathless. Sam spread his legs a little to get a better angle on rubbing against the heel. 

“You better do a good job.” Dean said. “Don’t get all distracted.” 

“I will and I won’t,” Sam replied, working up another lather on the saddle soap. He rubbed the soap into the boot extra slowly this time, staring up at Dean. Dean’s eyes were dark, intense, and Sam could tell he was turned on by the way his lips were slightly parted. 

Also, Dean had a hard-on that distended the fly of his jeans. 

Dean tracked Sam’s gaze to his zipper. He moved a hand down to unbutton and unzip it, then pulled his pants and briefs down far enough that his dick was exposed to the air. Sam sucked in a breath, not just at the sight of Dean’s cock, but also at all the _wiggling_ he was doing, causing his boot heel to rub all over Sam’s dick. He bent his head quickly to the task of wiping the lather off the boot so he could polish it.

Sam worked the polish into the boot, slowly and carefully, and then stopped. Dean choked off a moan, and Sam looked up to see him fisting his cock in his hand, stroking himself slowly. 

“You like this?” Sam asked. 

“Hell yeah. Nearly naked hot guy kneeling between my legs polishing my _boots_? What’s not to like?” Dean smirked. 

“Figure I’ll deserve something nice after I get your boots all polished.” 

“You don’t think the virtue is in the act of polishing them?” 

Sam kneeled up and the towel sort of _unraveled_ and fell off his hips. Dean gaped at him.

“I’m not _doing_ it because I’m _virtuous_ , Dean.” Sam growled. 

“Finish my boots and I’ll finish you.” Dean promised. 

Now Dean’s boot heel was in Sam’s lap without the mediating presence of the towel, and he could feel every ridge of the tread at the bottom catching at all the soft edges of his dick. It was absolutely maddening in the best way. He had to stop for a minute, forearms resting on his thighs, taking deep breaths and trembling. He had to bend all his concentration to blackening the right boot and then making it shine with shaking hands. When he finally put the boot on the floor, he had smears of black polish on his inner thighs and bootblack ridging his fingernails. Sam stroked a thumb down the rounded toe of the boot, pleased with his work. 

“Chrissake Sammy, come up here,” Dean sounded like he was begging, but since when did Dean beg anyone ever for sexual favors? 

Sam rose up over him, completely naked, on his knees between Dean’s thighs. Dean wrapped his legs over Sam’s, boots resting on his calves. Dean pulled Sam’s face to his, hand on the back of his neck, and kissed him dizzy. Sam fitted his body along Dean’s, feeling the textural contrast between his nudity and Dean’s clothing on his hypersensitive skin. 

“Pull these down,” Sam demanded, feeling his balls catch on the waistband of Dean’s briefs. 

Dean let go of Sam and shimmied under Sam as he yanked his pants further down his thighs. 

“If you want me to take ‘em off, I have to take off the boots, too.” 

“Oh, uh, hell no,” Sam pressed Dean back down onto the bed. “This is fine.” He fitted his dick alongside Dean’s, smooth and ridged heat against his own. He held himself up over Dean on one hand and gripped their two dicks together in his other. Dean arched up, lower lip caught between his teeth, and moaned loud and long. 

Sam had been teetering on the edge of coming for a while now, just from the process of cleaning and polishing Dean’s combat boots, but when Dean curled his legs up (as far as they could go, entrapped in his pulled-down pants) and nudged Sam’s ass with a cool, blunt boot-toe, he stammered, “Fuh-fuh-fuck, Dean!” and came so hard and so fast he felt like he’d turned himself inside out. 

When he came to his senses, he was collapsed next to Dean, who was laughing softly. He looked impossibly wanton, splayed messily with his jeans and shorts pulled down, Sam’s come soaking into the bottom edge of his t-shirt, and his dick still fully sprung.

“I don’t know what’s hotter, Sammy, you polishing my boots naked or how wound up it gets you.” 

Sam smiled ruefully, muscles still wrung out, watching Dean trace his fingers through the come on his belly. He slid off the edge of the bed and got between Dean’s knees once more. 

“Let me do it,” Sam murmured, flicking his tongue over Dean’s fingers. He licked his come off them, registering the bitter saltiness of it as he sucked Dean’s fingers into his mouth. He grinned knowingly up at Dean, who looked dazedly down at him. 

Sam licked Dean’s belly clean of his come and then traced ornate patterns up his dick with the tip of his tongue. Dean gripped the bedsheet in one hand and tangled his fingers in Sam’s sweaty hair with the other. 

“Come on, come on,” Dean urged, winding his fingers painfully tight as Sam slipped the head into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks with the suction, holding the base of Dean’s dick with one hand. Sam swallowed Dean down and down, hearing his escalating cries of “Sam. Sam! SAM!” as he bucked up into Sam’s mouth. 

Dean froze at the top of his arch, back like a bow, and wailed, “SAAAAAM!” clenching his legs around Sam’s thighs, boots digging into Sam’s calves. Sam let Dean spurt down his throat over and over until Dean sank back onto the bed, panting. Only then did Sam look up, swallowing and licking his lips. 

Dean didn’t look down at Sam. He stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, trying to get his breath back. 

“Was it...good for you...baby?” Dean gasped.

“Even better than I imagined.” Sam looked over his shoulder and saw faint black smears on the backs of his thighs and his calves. He smiled up at Dean. 

“C’mere.” 

Sam crawled back up onto the bed and snuggled in against Dean. He felt strange being naked next to Dean’s clothed body, but didn’t let it stop him from tucking his head onto Dean’s shoulder as he wrapped his arm across Dean’s chest. 

“So, combat boots, huh?” 

“Not exactly. More like, _you_ in the combat boots.” 

“Mm-hmm. You don’ t think it’ll wear off with me wearing the boots every day?” 

“Um, no.” 

Dean rolled onto his side to look at Sam. 

“Hang on. You got a little polish...right here.” Dean licked his thumb and ran it along Sam’s cheekbone. Sam closed his eyes and sighed. He was wrung out, totally exhausted. 

“Here, get under the blanket.” Dean got up and yanked the top coverlet out from under Sam’s body. He draped it over Sam and then got undressed, kicking the boots off and stripping. He crawled in next to Sam and pulled him close. 

“You gonna take care of my boots just like you did when you were younger, Sammy?” Dean murmured into Sam’s ear. 

Sam, on the fuzzy edge of sleep, nodded. 

“Good. Sweet dreams.” 

Sam felt Dean stroke his hair and then fell down a black hole into a dreamless sleep.

**

Sam woke up to the sound of Dean stomping into his boots. He rolled over to see him with his jacket on, getting ready to go out.

“I’m just getting some coffee and breakfast.” Dean looked down at his boots. “They look good, Sammy,” he said, smiling as he went out the door. 

Sam curled under the blanket and closed his eyes again, suffused with warmth and contentment, waiting for Dean to come back with breakfast.


End file.
